


Ford vs. His Family

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Twangst Stories [27]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Because I can, Canon Divergence - Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future, Dipper loves his family, Ford is an idiot, Gen, Mabel overhears more than we realize, Me spending more time picking on Ford, Still very angsty but a different route, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: AU in which Mabel's hearing is better than she claims, and Ford has underestimated the significance of family to Dipper; the end result is that Weirdmageddon doesn't happen, but there is still a biiiig rift that needs to be repaired by the Pineses.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Ford Pines & Mabel Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Stan Pines, Mabel Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Twangst Stories [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1323026
Comments: 94
Kudos: 298





	1. Breaking of the Fellowship

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first of all: I think I'm going to only try to post one chapter/story a day from now on, or take a little longer between chapters on occasion, because I'm worried about burning myself out if I do otherwise, and there's other stuff I should be doing. Sorry, but as some of you have pointed out, I need to take better care of myself.  
> ...The irony of the fact that I'm posting this very late at night is not lost on me, but I took a nap earlier so my internal clock is screwed up anyway.  
> Also, this fic is going to be a little mean to Ford in places. Sorry, Ford fans, but he mucked some things up, and I'm still annoyed with him for them. And the lovely thing about fanfiction is that when a character mucks things up, you can address it when you feel like canon hasn't done the job properly.

“Mabel!” Dipper burst into the attic room, overflowing with excitement. “I just had the best day of my life! UFOs are real and there's one under the town and I saved Great Uncle Ford’s life and- and…”

He finally noticed that Mabel was lying unnaturally still (as in, lying still at all) on her bed, not acknowledging him. She hadn’t even looked up when he ran in. His ebullience began to be replaced by confusion. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Tell me it’s not true, Dipper,” Mabel whispered. Slowly she sat up. “Tell me you were joking!”

In her hand was the walkie-talkie, still crackling with static.

Dipper gasped; he hadn’t realized that it had started working again!

Before he could speak, Mabel went on, “Ford’s apprentice? Seriously?”

He sighed. “Look, I’ve been thinking and...this is a huge opportunity for me.”

As he spoke, Mabel huddled in on herself, clamping her hands over her ears like that could make this not real. Then she exploded, with tears in her eyes, “Well it’s a horrible opportunity for _me_!”

Dipper flinched; he hadn’t realized that she would get so upset by this. No-she didn’t just sound upset. She sounded... _betrayed_.

“I had the worst day of my life!” Mabel ranted, jumping off her bed and walking away towards the middle of their room. “When we turn thirteen, the summer ends, and I have to leave everything behind!” She whirled on him, pointing. “You’re the only person I can count on, and now _you’re_ leaving me too? So me and Grunkle Stan are _both_ gonna lose our brothers?!”

“Wh-what?” Dipper blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Mabel sniffled, and wiped her eyes on her sweater sleeve. “I-I-when they were talking after he first came back, Ford told Grunkle Stan that he has to give him the house back at the end of the summer. I didn’t wanna believe it-I thought they’d work things out and stop fighting by now. But this-this just confirms it-he’s using you to replace Grunkle Stan!”

Dipper’s stomach dropped even worse than it had when he’d first seen the drone come to life. “No-no, that can’t be right. Great Uncle Ford wouldn’t do that.”

“Ask him!” Mabel challenged, eyes filling with tears again. “ _Ask_ him if you don’t believe me!”

Dipper glanced uncertainly over at his backpack, where the rift was.

* * *

Ford had just finished setting things up to seal the rift and finally make things safe from Bill (at least until or unless he could design a more permanent solution), when he heard the sound of very young feet walking down the stairs.

“Let me guess,” he said without turning around, “Mabel didn’t take it well.”

There was a brief silence. Then Dipper blurted, “Are you planning to kick out Grunkle Stan?”

The old scientist nearly dropped his equipment, and had to fumble to catch it. He turned around, and saw Dipper standing there with his backpack clutched in his arms, actually looking like a twelve-year-old for once.

For a moment, Ford’s thought processes froze, and he was surprised to feel a pang of something that might have been guilt or nervousness in his chest. Either way, he was annoyed by it, and tried to squelch it. But it was hard when the boy was still standing there staring at him, waiting for an answer...and looking increasingly crushed as none came.

At last Ford swallowed and said, “That-I wouldn’t put it quite like-that’s not important right now. Dipper, I-I need you to hand me the rift so we can deal with this-”

“How can you do that to him?”

Dipper’s voice was starting to rise and tremble violently, and his hands were shaking. “And why-you weren’t even gonna tell me about that when you asked me to be your apprentice?” Now his eyebrows drew together, and his volume increased. “What, were you hoping I’d be so excited about everything I’d be learning from you that I just wouldn’t notice he wasn’t around anymore?!”

“No, I thought you would understand that I’m putting an end to my brother’s farcical scam that’s been going on for far too long!”

Dipper recoiled, looking like he’d been slapped with words.

Ford barely had time to process that there was actual _hurt_ in his nephew’s eyes, before he glared, and stomped forward, yanking the rift from his backpack and shoving it into Ford’s chest.

“You can _keep_ your dumb mysteries,” he whispered venomously. “I’m going back to Piedmont with Mabel. Because yeah, she can be kind of annoying and insensitive sometimes, but she is _not_ suffocating. She’s my sister.”

And without another word, he turned and rushed back upstairs, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

The attic door opened for the second time that evening-but it was a very different boy who came slowly inside, kicking it shut with his heel and letting his backpack slip off his shoulder onto the floor.

Mabel could tell from his expression that he’d just been to see Ford, and what she’d heard had been true. And a nasty, vindictive voice in the back of her mind kind of wanted to say “I told you so.”

Except Dipper looked so crushed that immediately she felt bad for the thought, and let it vanish like a wisp of cotton candy in the wind.

She got off her bed and went over to her brother, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“Dipper? You okay?”

His mouth trembled, and he closed his eyes to keep her from seeing the tears starting to form.

Mabel wrapped her arms around her brother.

“Oh man, I’m sorry, Dipper. I know you were excited about the possibility of staying here-”

She stopped talking when Dipper began sobbing, and just rocked back and forth, trying to soothe him.

“I can’t believe I thought he was so great,” Dipper whispered sometime later, moping on his bed with Mabel at his side. “I mean-he acts so cool! He likes D,D&D, we can talk for hours about all the science and supernatural stuff that puts you and Grunkle Stan to sleep, he can pull off wearing a trench coat and turtleneck in the middle of summer-and all this time he was planning on-this.”

His shoulders drooped miserably.

“Dipper…” Mabel gave him another hug. “He’s still pretty cool. He’s just also kind of a poophead.”

To her relief, that finally got her brother to laugh a little. But it didn’t last long before he was sighing again, and staring gloomily at his knees. “We need to do something to help Grunkle Stan. He’s too old to go back on the streets.”

She cringed at the very idea of her favorite (she had decided that right now he was _definitely_ her favorite, and likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future) grunkle being alone again; because even though he’d claimed he was fine after getting kicked out, something told her that he was lying. And then her eyes brightened.

“I have a brilliant-beyond-brilliant idea!”

* * *

Stan came back inside from putting up more signs advertising the Mystery Shack, massaging his back in the spot that always seemed to be getting sore nowadays.

 _Moses_ , there were times when he hated being old and decrepit.

With a sigh he headed for the fridge and grabbed a Pitt, wondering if the two nerds were back from their little trip yet. If they’d deign to descend from on high (metaphorically, since their typical meeting place was in the opposite direction-heh, there was some great joke material there) to mingle with common folk like him and-

“Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan!”

The chorus of young voices was soon enough followed by just the gremlins he’d been thinking about. Dipper, he noticed, was looking kind of banged up, and he felt his protective instincts bristle.

_I ask one thing of you, Stanford. ONE THING!_

“What the heck happened ta you?” he asked, looking Dipper over with concern.

And to his horror, the kid’s eyes watered...before he lunged at Stan and threw his arms around his waist.

This time, Stan didn’t try to make any kind of jokes or write this off somehow. Not when he suddenly felt his shirt growing damp, and saw that the kid's shoulders were shaking. He just looked over at Mabel for some kind of explanation, while putting his hand on Dipper’s head and awkwardly petting his hair.

“Hey, what-what’s the matter, huh?”

Mabel came and hugged him too. “We know that Great Uncle Ford’s gonna throw you out at the end of the summer, Grunkle Stan,” she said.

Stan cringed. “What’re you-”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Dipper murmured, voice muffled against his jacket. “He admitted it already. We’re so-so sorry.”

At last Stan stopped just standing there awkwardly, and put his arms around them both.

When the kids had both calmed down somewhat Stan got them all settled around the kitchen table, with sodas for everyone, and the whole story came out-from the rift created by the portal, to Ford’s offer for Dipper to stay. The last one in particular had Stan resisting the urge to bring out his bat and see if Ford could dodge getting it in the teeth (he figured it was even odds; for someone who was supposed to be such an awesome butt-kicking space traveler now, Ford had still needed to be rescued _twice_ ever since he came home, so he wasn’t as great as he thought he was). He resisted in lieu of checking the kid over to make sure he wasn’t banged up too badly. To his relief, it was mostly just a few scrapes and bruises, easily taken care of.

“...So we came up with a better idea,” Mabel said as Stan sat down, and took a gulp of his soda. “We think that at the end of the summer, you should come back to Piedmont to live with us!”

She got a blast of Pitt cola in the face, but Stan was too busy gasping for air to appreciate the perfect comedic timing.

“Sorry,” he said after he got his breathing under control.

“It’s okay,” Mabel assured him as she rinsed her hair out in the sink, “my soda was empty anyway, I needed a fresh drink.”

“Gross, Mabel, that was in his mouth!” Dipper pointed out. “It was probably all full of old man backwash!”

“Hey, watch it!” Stan scolded.

They all laughed, before he sighed and got back to the point. “Kids...I don’t think your parents really want a grumpy old codger leaching off them.”

“Oh come on,” Mabel argued, coming back to the table. “They’d understand! You can tell them that you’ve retired and want to spend more time with us!”

Stan shook his head. “It ain’t that simple, sweetie. Besides, I can handle myself-I’ve done it before.”

“But you shouldn’t _have_ to, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel put her hand on his arm. “You’re our family, and we wanna help you out.”

“Yeah, maybe you could start a new mystery shack downtown!” Dipper grabbed his notepad and pen, and flipped to some pages where it looked like he’d actually started turning this into a plan. “Or a novelty shop-that way you wouldn’t be leaching at all, you’d be earning your keep! If you really wanted to, you could just stay with us until you earned enough money to get a place nearby or something!”

Stan...got a little glitter in his eyes again.

“I’ll haveta think about it,” he murmured.

The kids cheered.

* * *

In the gift shop, the secret door behind the vending machine slid shut.


	2. A pariah in his natural habitat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm counting this as technically being the next day of posting, since I was asleep between the first one and this one.  
> It counts, okay?

The next day, Ford once again felt like a ghost wandering around what used to be his house, but for entirely different reasons.

It was made clear to him from the moment he set foot upstairs that morning, when he’d finished sealing and in other ways securing the rift, that he was _persona non grata_.

Everyone either avoided or openly ignored him. Even Wendy and Soos had apparently been informed of current events at some point; therefore he wasn’t greeted by Soos’s typical “Oh hey, Other Mr. Pines” when the handyman walked past him in the hallway, and Wendy, who already spent most of her time completely uninterested in him, appeared to be doing so with more...hostility than usual. 

The only person who acknowledged his presence at all was Mabel, and it was by giving him a few dark glares when she thought he wasn’t looking. Dipper’s reaction was even worse: the moment Ford set foot in the kitchen where everyone else was eating breakfast, the boy picked up his plate and swiftly moved to the living room.

For a minute all Ford could do was stand there numbly-then, with an uncomfortable twisting feeling in his gut, he went to the fridge, grabbed an apple, and retreated downstairs.

Ford was definitely not sulking.

To the untrained eye, someone might assume that he was doing so, since he was ~~hiding~~ _sitting_ in his study, at his desk, arms folded, glaring at nothing.

It would be a ridiculous assumption, of course-he was just lost in thought wondering where he’d gone wrong with Dipper yesterday, and what he could do to fix it, and feeling a slight amount of resentment over how unfair it was that everyone had suddenly turned against him. Which was completely different from sulking. Because-because it just was, okay?

The boy's words echoed in his head, over and over:

_“How can you do that to him?”_

_“You can_ keep _your dumb mysteries.”_

 _“She is_ not _suffocating. She’s my sister.”_

_“You could just stay with us until you earned enough money to get a place nearby or something, Grunkle Stan!”_

Ford’s fingers dug into his arms, trying to make them stop trembling.

Of course the kids would ultimately side with Stanley. He was the _normal_ one who could actually fit in with other people, who could’ve been very popular in high school if he hadn’t hung around to annoy Ford all the time and be his personal bodyguard when bullies tried to-

For heavens’ sake, he shouldn’t be letting this nonsense get to him! He had more important things to be worried about than his own bruised ego and the pettiness of two children-like the potential end of the world, if Bill got his greedy little hands on the rift!

...Which had been securely covered in sealant, and was unlikely to be broken even by a blast from a science fiction-type laser cannon (he knew from experience that that was more probable than you’d think).

Well, there was protecting the house from Bill’s influence to worry about-

No, no, Mabel had taken care of that by retrieving all that unicorn hair for him.

Ford, unable to sit still any longer, got up and started pacing around the room, trying to lose himself in calculating the digits of pi, which sometimes worked for clearing his thoughts when he got too worked up.

This time it did nothing to drive away the image in his mind of the hurt that had been in his nephew’s eyes and voice.

* * *

The shunning continued every time Ford went upstairs over the next two days.

He almost wanted to pick another fight with Stanley, so at least somebody would be talking to him again and he could blow off some steam.

Idly the thought occurred to him that by now he could probably draw an accurate sketch of the back of his brother’s head from memory, since that was all he could see of him whenever he was in his presence.

He actually found himself doing so in his journal, before scratching it out in annoyance. He threw down his pen and groaned into his hands.

It was becoming evident to him that he was never going to feel any peace unless he at least tried to clear things with-

He’d start with Dipper.

Yeah, that seemed easiest.

Try to talk to Dipper.

Tentatively, Ford stepped through the door into the main part of the house. He peered around, and tried to guess where his nephew might be. The likely options, based on the time of day and his observations of the areas Dipper frequented most, were either his room, which meant potentially encountering Mabel, or the living room, which meant potentially encountering Stan. He knew which of those options he’d prefer to handle; on the other hand, the living room was closer to his current position. On the _other_ other hand, perhaps Dipper wasn’t in the house at all, and he should check outside for him before trying either of them-

Dipper stepped into the hallway out of the living room, about to turn in the direction of the kitchen when his eyes landed on Ford.

For a moment the boy’s shoulders tightened, before he quickly turned away, ready to continue his journey without acknowledging his uncle’s presence.

“Dipper, wait.”

He froze in the doorway, hands clenching into trembling fists at his side-but at least he was staying still for the moment.

Ford cleared his throat, and said before he could lose his nerve, “I-I’m sorry for what I said. About Mabel. I-suppose I was projecting my own problems onto you two, and that wasn’t fair to either of you. I’m sorry.”

Ford waited for some kind of response, hands tucked in his coat pockets. Just when he was starting to think he wasn’t going to get one, Dipper said softly, “I’m not the one you really need to apologize to, Great Uncle Ford.”

Slowly he turned around to face him. His expression was not angry or cold, so much as it was...resolute.

“Grunkle Stan messed up a lot of things for you, but he spent the next thirty years trying to fix it. And you haven’t.”

With that, he turned back around and finished his journey into the kitchen.

_Wha-trying to-_

_What does he think I was_ doing _the whole time I was in the multiverse-sitting around and watching grass grow?!_

It took Ford a moment to work through his knee-jerk anger and consider that maybe Dipper wasn’t talking about his trying to fix his horrendous mistake in trusting Bill. Instead he was talking about-

 _No. Never. I have nothing to apologize for, all he’s ever done is get in the way of my goals! He’s the one who should apologize to_ me _for-!_

_Have you given him any reason to think you’d listen to him if he did?_

Ford blinked in surprise at his own thought. But...well, it was a shockingly valid question. Maybe Stan didn’t think he’d accept an apology. Heck, _Ford_ wasn’t sure if he was ready to accept an apology.

...But this was important to Dipper. ~~And maybe, deep down, several layers beneath his skin, it was kind-of sort-of maybe important to him too.~~

So, with fresh resolution in his heart, Ford went looking for his twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to the Pines family, sometimes you need to tell, not show, if you want to get something through their stupid stubborn thick skulls #$@&@%!(%)#@***($(@!-
> 
> *Deep breath, deep breath*
> 
> I'm okay now.


	3. Insert famous Johnny Cash song here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint: it's not "Burning Ring of Fire" or "Riders in the Sky."
> 
> Some of you might have read my first draft of this; I decided to redo it to add in some stuff, including some extra angst, because I am a dark and troubled soul beneath my facade of dry humor. Or maybe the dry humor part is real too, and I'm just multi-faceted, like a diamond. Or there's another, even deeper layer to me that's just like the one on the outside, like a pie.
> 
> And maybe I'm having too much fun trying to give similes to the different layers of my psyche.

It took Ford longer than he thought it should have to find Stanley.

As it turned out, he was standing in the “exhibit” part of the house with yet another group of innocent tourists who he was fleecing out of their (probably) hard-earned money, wearing that wide impertinent grin that had always meant trouble and an eyepatch (which nobody seemed to notice was being worn _over_ his glasses, or that at one point he actually switched it to cover his other eye).

Ford groaned in disgust from where he was standing in the doorway; nobody noticed.

“Ladies and gentle-tourists, welcome!” Stan led the cluster over to a set of red velvet curtains, hooking the end of his 8-ball cane through a loop in the bottom of the golden cord attached to them with a theatrical twirl. In a single swift motion, he pulled them open, revealing...a statue of a hunched-over, hirsute man in a ragged long coat and top hat crouched behind a tree, with wild eyes and a demented grin. His fingers were curled into claws at his chest, and one of his hands clutched a walking stick like he was about to start beating someone with it.

“Behold, the world’s only preserved specimen of…” Stan paused for more drama, “the great and terrible Hyde-Behind!”

Several people laughed, while it took all Ford’s self-control not to point out the immense _multitude_ of inaccuracies in that-

“But wait, there’s more!” Tucking his cane under his arm, Stan hurried around to the side of the statue, putting his hand on the corner. “If ya catch him on a good day, he turns into…”

He spun the exhibit in one fluid motion.

“A Jekyll-In Front!”

The tree was still there, but now there was a well-dressed gentleman standing in front of it, wearing what looked like one of Ford’s old lab coats and holding a china teacup daintily in his hands.

This time the tourists were openly guffawing, hurrying forward to give Stan their money so they could get their pictures taken with the silly exhibit.

It took Ford a moment to realize that he had accidentally started smiling at the pun. He wiped the expression off his face, and leaned against the doorway, arms folded.

Apparently he would just have to wait for this satire to end before he could talk to Stanley.

* * *

It was his first time watching one of his brother’s tours in action. As he’d suspected, it was ridiculous, making a mockery of the supernatural and acting as a barely-disguised hustle which people who really ought to know better still fell for hook, line and sinker. They laughed over punny names, had their pictures taken with obvious fake taxidermy, and bought merchandise that was clearly an homage to Stan’s ego (“Mr. Mystery” bobbleheads? Really?) at exorbitant prices that even their father might not have dared to charge.

And yet…

And yet there was a peculiar sort of...well, a sort of _charm_ to it. Stan always knew just the right words to say that would get people laughing, when to throw out a joke or make a grand gesture that drew everyone’s attention.

_He always was a natural-born showman._

Despite his best efforts, Ford couldn’t keep himself from smiling a few more times as he watched his brother charm the money out of tourists’ wallets, and get thanked for the privilege.

Eventually they wound up in the gift shop, where they spent more money on T-shirts, mugs and bumper stickers, before returning to their vehicles and leaving to Stan’s voice calling after them, “Remember, folks, we put the ‘fun’ in ‘no refunds’!”

Stan turned, the enormous jar of cash in his arms-and saw Ford standing there watching him.

At once his smile faded; clutching the jar to his chest, he stalked past him, heading for his office.

Ford only hesitated for a moment...before hurrying after him.

“Stanley?”

Stan’s shoulders tightened, and he marched into the office without responding, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel.

Undeterred, Ford caught it before it could close all the way, and followed him inside. “Stanley, I need to talk to you.”

“No, I don’t think ya do,” Stan countered. His tone could have been used to freeze over coffee that was fresh out of the pot. “If you’re gonna give me some lecture on the kinda business I’m runnin’, I don’t wanna hear it. Just go back ta your basement and let me count the profits from my dishonest living in peace.”

Ford let out a frustrated growl. “Will you stop being difficult for five seconds and just _listen_ to me?!”

That finally broke Stan; he slammed the jar on the desk and whirled around. “And why would I do _that_ , Stanford?! You don’t ever listen ta _me_! I ask you not ta drag the kids into danger, and the minute my back’s turned you’re takin’ Dipper to visit alien crash sites ta fix holes in the universe or whatever, and tryna brainwash him inta becomin’ your clone and stayin’ with you forever!”

So Dipper had told them about the rift, and presumably about Ford’s role in giving Bill access to their world. Part of him wanted to be angry at the boy for that, after he’d promised to keep it a secret, but he decided that it was an issue he would deal with later. Right now, he had to have another argument with his brother.

“He _wanted_ to get involved! If I hadn’t told him about the rift _you_ created by starting the portal up again, he would have figured it out on his own sooner or later; he’s a very bright young man, if you haven’t noticed! Besides, if I heard Mabel right you hardly have grounds to be upset with me for child endangerment, since under _your_ watch they were arrested for counterfeiting!”

“And _you_ thought it was acceptable ta give twelve-year-olds your stupid mind-control necktie!” Stan marched forward, jabbed him in the chest. “They nearly got blown up by dynamite cuz of that! And guess who had ta be the one ta rescue them? That’s right, ME!”

Ford smacked his hand away. “They only asked for that because you were a terrible politician! Get off me!”

“Or what, you’re gonna hurt me?” Stan taunted, barely seeming to notice the slight towards his political skills. He shoved Ford again, pushing him back towards the door of the office. “There’s nothin’ else left you can take from me, Poindexter-bring it!”

...Ford had promised himself that he wasn’t going to fight with Stanley.

He’d told himself that they were going to act like calm, mature, rational human beings for once and work this problem of theirs out in a way that would satisfy both them and the children, and maybe he’d even be able to make some kind of peace with his brother that could quench this constant, burning anger that had been fueling his thoughts for the past forty years.

He really should have known better than to think Stan could possibly act like anything but a stupid, selfish, stubborn-

His ire raised, Ford tried to end this quickly, like last time. He lunged, intent on pinning Stan’s arms and knocking him to the floor until he conceded defeat. But this time, Stan saw it coming-he dodged, and then brought both his hands up, slapping them over Ford’s ears.

He stumbled back, disoriented, and ended up crashing into the wall.

Immediately he forced himself to straighten up, and barely deflected another blow so it smashed into his shoulder instead of his chest, shoving Stan away.

“Believe it or not, Stanley,” he snarled, “I’m not here because I want to fight with you!”

Stan gave him an unimpressed glare, fists clenching again in true boxing style.

Undeterred, Ford said quickly, “I came here to say that I’m taking back what I said.”

His brother blinked; his expression made a slow transition from anger to confusion. Ford used that as an opportunity to continue, pushing away from the wall and adjusting his coat, “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. You can-” he grimaced, feeling a bit of a bad taste in his mouth, but surprisingly not as big of one as before he’d watched the tour- “you can even keep this ‘Mystery Shack’ open if you wish, at least until I can think up a more viable source of income-”

Before he could continue his speech, he was interrupted by a scornful snort.

“You’re just sayin’ all this cuz you want the kids ta stop bein’ mad at you. Spare me. I don’t need your pity.” Stan straightened his jacket and turned back towards his desk, with an air indicating that as far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.

For a moment, all Ford could do was stand there in bewilderment, watching Stan sit down in his chair and pull the jar of cash to him. He glanced up at Ford.

“What’re you still doin’ here?”

Then the rage returned with a vengeance. Ford surged forward, slamming his hands down onto the desktop.

“I’m _trying_ to talk to you! Would you stop shutting me down and tell me what you want?!”

Stan’s face turned so dark that for a moment he actually wondered if he was about to have a stroke-then he lunged to his feet, slamming down his hands in a mirror posture to him, and roared, “ _I WANNA STAY BECAUSE_ YOU _WANT ME TO STAY!_ ”

He continued his yelling unprompted now, as if Ford had finally mixed together the right number of chemicals to create a seemingly never-ending explosion of rage and hurt.

“I don’t want you ta take back what you said just cuz you’re pityin’ me or want the kids ta like you again or whatever, I want _you_ ta want me around! I wanna be more than just the scum on the bottom of your shoe that ya can’t get rid of fast enough! **I WANT MY BROTHER BACK!!!!** ”

The last part was just barely a decibel short of being an anguished scream, and it still tore right through Ford’s heart.

Stan’s old hands clenched into tight fists, and his gaze dropped to them.

“...I don’t expect ya to understand what that feels like, though,” he whispered, looking like all his energy for fighting or yelling had drained away at once, leaving him shaking even as he continued to hold himself up. He swallowed, blinked hard a few times, and then lifted his head to glare at Ford through eyes that glittered with tears he was too stubborn to shed in front of him.

* * *

Ford felt what seemed like the entire spectrum of emotions that hurt the most burst into life through his chest, climb up his spinal cord to burn in his brain, and drop back down into his stomach in a matter of seconds. More anger (of course there was; there seemed to be a never-ending fountain of it), frustration, pain-and a surprising amount of anguish and hurt.

For a moment all he could do was glare back, while trying internally to quell these emotions and stop him from doing something he might regret. There had to be some calm, logical solution he could think of that would fix this…

But the only one that came to mind, that choked him to even think about, involved Stanford Pines doing something he hadn’t done in a long, long time regarding his brother.

He swallowed his pride.


	4. Welcome home

Everything hurt.

Yelling everything out like that left Stan feeling torn apart inside, like he’d ripped himself open down the middle and pulled his heart out, laying it on the table in front of him for all to see-and it not only hurt...he was terrified.

Specifically, he was terrified about what his brother would do next.

Probably not laugh at him, he wasn’t that much of a bas...ketcase.

...But maybe say something scornful to trample Stan’s heart, bared and laid out for him as it was, into the dust. Or walk away and go hide in the basement-that was certainly Ford’s style, just run away from things he didn’t want to deal with and try to pretend they hadn’t happened-

He definitely didn’t expect Ford to finally let out a long exhale, reach into his coat, and pull out an old, crumpled photograph, which he set on the table between them.

Even though it was faded and torn and stained, it was obvious who was in it, and what boat they were standing on. And it hadn’t been in the house for the last thirty years; Stan would have seen it if it was.

Stan stared at it for a few seconds...and then gave Ford a disbelieving look.

“You just happened to be carrying this in your pocket when I came here?”

His brother shrugged, and a few spots of color rose in his cheeks. “I didn’t realize it at first either.”

He let the implication ‘but I kept it all this time’ hang in the air between them unsaid.

So. Ford had missed Stan enough to keep one of their old photos, even when he got sent to another dimension.

It wasn’t much...but it was something. It was maybe enough to make Stan’s heart-treacherous, optimistic piece of crap that it was-jump a little in his chest, and stir with the beginnings of hope. But he tried to push it down again just as quickly, because every time he did that with Ford it just meant fresh disappointment, betrayal and hurt.

Maybe this photo meant Ford wasn’t completely indifferent to him-but it didn’t get rid of the possibility that he hated him instead. And Stan wasn’t too clear on which one was worse, because while arguably someone hating you meant you were still important to them, as opposed to their not caring about you at all, in his experience that also meant they were more likely to actively try to hurt you.

* * *

Stan didn’t look convinced.

He at least didn’t seem ready to start throwing punches again, but his expression hadn’t relaxed either. There was still visible tension in his shoulders and his eyes. Not to mention, Ford realized, _pain_.

It wasn’t something he’d allowed himself to think about too hard, but Stan was in just as much pain and fear of being hurt again as he was.

Somehow, even though he still wasn’t sure _what_ to say, that made wanting to say the right thing to help fix this a little bit easier.

Ford sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I may have been...a little too hasty in my initial decision about the house.”

Stan looked surprised...but then he asked sarcastically, “ _May_ have been?”

“...You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

He smirked a little. “Nope.”

Again, Ford swallowed his pride. “I was too hasty in my decision.”

“That’s better.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but continued, “I had convinced myself that the solution to my problems with Bill, and to finding out that I was back in my own home but no longer in the time that I left, was to bring things as close to how I remembered them as possible. Which...was not realistic or viable. And it was unfair. So. I am willing to discuss other options.”

Stan sighed, releasing even more of his tension. “...Thanks.”

“I maintain my stance that what you did was incredibly reckless.”

It seemed only fair to be honest about what he felt. Stan bristled again, but Ford hurried on, “If you know about Bill, and what he wants to do if he finds a way into this dimension, then you should understand why. No one person is worth risking the fate of the world, and you had no way of knowing if I was even alive.”

The glare lessened. But Stan shook his head stubbornly.

“I’d still do it again. If it meant there was any chance I could find you and bring you back, I’d do it. Maybe you wouldn’t have had a problem leaving _me_ there, but I couldn’t have lived with myself.”

Ford gulped. Put like that, it did sound... ~~a little~~ ~~more than a little~~ _extremely_ heartless.

And therefore not something he should ever have expected from Stanley, for all his faults.

At last, he swallowed and said hoarsely, “Your stubborn loyalty defies logic sometimes.”

“It does not-it defies logic _all_ the time!”

He rolled his eyes again, and let out a croaky kind of laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a knucklehead.” The retort came out in what seemed like a knee-jerk response; as soon as it did, though, Stan’s eyes widened nervously, and he shrunk back in on himself, looking like he was ready for Ford to lash out at him again or say something full of icy hostility-

Ford just laughed again, even more genuinely. When he finished he admitted, voice soft, “...I don’t think I could have left you there either. Believe it or not.”

Stan clenched his teeth down on his lower lip, eyes shining behind his glasses, before he twisted to the side, burying his face in his hand.

For the first time in forever, Ford reached out to his brother, gently touching his shoulder. To his relief, Stan leaned into his touch; he squeezed the muscle, while rubbing a circle in his back with his thumb.

* * *

It wasn’t hugging it out like Mabel had ordered them to, and there was still a lot of old crap they had to dig up and talk about even though it would hurt...but hearing that Ford would have done the same thing if he’d been the one sucked into the portal was still something. It was like there’d been an old, rusty razor blade stabbing him in the heart all this time, getting twisted and digging in further every time Ford gave him a cold stare or made a cutting remark about his business or the size of his gut or how he spent his time with the kids-and at last, it had been removed. The area was still very sore and probably infected, but maybe now there was a chance for it to heal.

“‘M sorry,” he whispered, without looking at Ford. “I’m so, so sorry, I-”

His shoulder was squeezed again. “I know. I am too.”

* * *

From the doorway, Dipper pulled his sister away before she could squeal with excitement and spoil the moment.

“They need privacy, Mabel,” he whispered as he hustled her downstairs. “Let’s...make them a celebratory dinner or something.”

Mabel covered her mouth with her hands and released her delighted squeal into them. “Let’s make pie! Grunkle Stan loves pie! And bacon, let’s make bacon! Oh man, I don’t know what kind of food Grunkle Ford likes! We should have asked him what kind of food he likes!”

“We spent the last two days not talking to him, remember? We’re just gonna have to guess.” Dipper towed her towards the kitchen, on the way grabbing Soos and Wendy. “Do you guys know anything about cooking? They seem like they’ve made up, or at least started to, so we’re gonna celebrate.”

“Well, my grandma’s tried teaching me how ta make burritos a few times,” Soos said, chubby face lighting up happily, “and they’ve only been charred on the outside and raw on the inside, like, seven out of ten times, so those are definitely good odds! This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, it’s gotta be an opportunity where my thirty-percent success rate will be a thing!”

Wendy shrugged. “We don’t cook much at home, but I can open cans and things. I can give it a shot.”

“This will be the best celebrating-our-grunkles-making-up dinner EVER!” Mabel proclaimed, giving everyone a round of high-fives.

* * *

**Twenty minutes later**

Everyone ran screaming, searching frantically for where Stan kept the fire extinguisher, as two-foot-high flames rose from the stove.

“LOOK FOR A BUCKET!” Mabel yelled, running to a cupboard and throwing it open-only to have a pile of junk fall on her.

Soos flung open a cupboard and filled every cup, bowl and tupperware he could find with water, before throwing them at the fire, which sizzled but determinedly continued to burn.

“How!” Wendy yelled, looking under the sink for the extinguisher, “How the heck did we manage to do this using _tortillas_ and _beans_?!”

Dipper scrambled onto the counter and grabbed a pitcher, which he filled to the brim before running at the stove and hurling the contents.

Water splashed everywhere...including right in the faces of their grunkles, who had just entered the kitchen to see what all the commotion was.

Everyone froze in a mosaic of horror.

Water dripped from Stan and Ford’s glasses and the tips of their noses.

Dipper’s mouth flapped helplessly.

Mabel extricated herself from the mess, and the broom clattered against the linoleum.

At last Soos coughed.

“Sorry dudes.”

Stan examined the chaos, and snorted.

“We leave you knuckleheads alone for just a little while…”

“Dare I ask what... _this_ is?” Ford prodded gingerly with the tip of his blaster at the twisted blackened mess on top of the stove, which resembled something out of a horror movie.

“We were trying to make celebratory burrito pies,” Mabel said, standing up. “...It didn’t work as well as we thought it would.”

“Obviously.”

She flushed, and looked at her feet. Ford felt his heart twinge a little.

“Who wants Chinese?” Stan asked, heading for the phone. “I’m gonna order takeout.”

* * *

**Ten minutes later**

Working together, they were able to finish cleaning up the mess just before the delivery guy got there with their food. Then they gathered together in the living room to eat.

The only real chair was the yellow armchair, which of course Stan claimed for himself, with Dipper and Mabel perching on each of the arms.

Mabel was startled when Ford came over to her side, where the dinosaur skull was, and asked softly, “...Is this seat taken?”

Part of her wanted to say that yes, it was for either Soos or Wendy. The fact that he’d called her relationship with Dipper _suffocating_ , and taken it for granted that she’d be fine with having her brother unexpectedly taken away from her without even discussing it with her or _their parents_ first, still stung.

But the nervousness in his eyes, and the fact that he was probably trying to be apologetic in his own way, were enough to make her shrug and say, “Nope.”

Ford smiled, perching on the skull with his carton of Chinese food.

Stan pulled the remote control out from between the cushions, and flipped the television on, going through a few channels before settling on some mindless game show.

And for the first time in days, things in the Pines household were comparatively peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are more details that need to be dealt with, of course, but at least for now they just want to enjoy some quality time together without anger or tension or resentment or excessive hurt.  
> Since the rift has been taken care of, Ford finds it easier to relax with his family without worrying about Bill disturbing them again. He begins watching Stan's tours more, making his brother growl that he's gonna start charging him for admission. But he doesn't seem too serious about it. Ford retorts by complaining about the silliness of some of the exhibits-the names alone are ridiculous. I mean, a Cornicorn? Really?  
> Stan gives an understanding nod, and says that ohh, of course, he should give them more serious, scientific names, like the plaidypus, or beard cubs, or the leprecorn.  
> Ford blushes sheepishly, and stops complaining about the quality of the exhibits.
> 
> He also tries to make things up with Mabel by letting her paint a turkey on his hand, and telling her about some of his adventures in other dimensions. He apologizes to both twins for hurting them and trying to split them up before they were ready for it, and he and Dipper agree to maybe talk about the apprenticeship again when he's at least had a chance to graduate high school.
> 
> By the time of the twins' birthday, things are relaxed enough for Stan and Ford to work together to plan a surprise party for them in the yard. And when the kids go home the next day, Stan's a little nervous about getting kicked out despite everything, and wonders if he should've taken them up on their offer after all, but when Ford makes no effort to make him leave or close down his business, he allows a little bit of his newfound optimism to stay.


End file.
